The Time of Little Things
by oh help
Summary: The contempt in his voice as the word "coward" leaves his lips knots her stomach and she wonders whether this is what Gryffindor has done to her son, or why he was there in the first place. Oneshot, Seamus and his mother before Dumbledore's funeral.


One of my favorite familial relationships in HP that I'd love to explore more when I'm not scrambling to make the end of a competition.

* * *

"What about the funeral?"

The question is careful, a litmus test of her intentions. He's trying to hold himself in until he knows what she wants from him, eyeing the other stiff, serious parents in the Entrance Hall with suspicion.

He's always been such an earnest boy that she knows this is a decision he'd make without thinking. She wants to speak to him with sympathy, to let him know she understands, but there's such hostility behind his words that it scares her. "Were you planning to go?" she asks redundantly, ineffectually, unable to make herself move the conversation any way. All of the ways have poor ends.

"Yeah," he says steadily, "I thought I would." The staunch faithfulness swells her heart, but she is more fearful than she is proud.

She murmurs, "I'd really feel better if you came home."

His face hardens. "I'll come home after the funeral."

As far as she knows her son never spoke two words to Albus Dumbledore. All he is to any of them is a figurehead, the face of Good, and she understands now that Seamus wants to make a point. This is a declaration of allegiance in the turmoil that's inevitably going to follow, and he has every intention of joining any fight that comes.

"I don't think you understand how things are going to change," she tries to explain, "What it means for you to—"

It is at this that fury spills over in him. "I don't understand?" he repeats, slowly and seethingly. "I'm the one who's been in the thick of it while you've been pretending there's nothing wrong!" His raised voice is turning heads now and a girl she doesn't recognize mumbles "Calm down, Seamus," but he brushes her off. "No, I'm sick to death of you expecting me to just be a coward with you!"

The contempt in his voice as the word "coward" leaves his lips knots her stomach and she wonders whether this is what Gryffindor has done to her son, or why he was there in the first place.

He seems emboldened by her silence and tosses his head, lifting his chin in defiance. "If you want to stay out of it then do what you want, but I'm going to do what I think is bloody right."

"You're my son. You'll do what I tell you—"

"I'm seventeen!" He says this like it contradicts her and legally it does but to her it just makes him sound more like a child

"You don't realize how _young_ that is!" she almost sobs.

"So—so what!"

"So I'm not going to let my son put himself in danger—"

"I AM NOT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING!" he roars.

And she cries, " _YES, YOU ARE_!"

He looks stunned, as if he can't tell whether or not she's telling a horrid joke, and she knows now that they have grown too far from each other to understand.

There was a time when he respected her, but it was the time of little things. There was no unfurling catastrophe to bring up the parts of them that stood in opposition. If they'd lived the rest of their lives in peacetime she'd have never doubted to know him, she'd have never seen how willingly Seamus would risk himself.

She is not ashamed to value her family more than bravery and nobility and this entire nonsensical conflict, but she knows that it doesn't make her a good person, and she can't fathom what it is like to be good.

"Shut up," says her son, who is a good person.

They are silent for a long time, the small crowd of onlookers waiting for the other shoe to drop. She can pick out children she knows gathered in the door: Lavender-from-the-Yule-Ball, her wide eyes puffy and purple-ringed; Dean Thomas with his mouth open helplessly. _Harry Potter_ is watching from the stairs, looking insubstantial, like a weary ghost.

"I'll find someplace to stay," she says, "Until it's over."

She watches Seamus's frustration fizz impotently at the anticlimax of their row. "Alright," he snaps.

"I'm sorry." She is not sure how he will understand her apology, for shouting or for wanting him home or being a coward, but she needs him to know that anything he takes offense to she regrets.

He looks away from her for the first time, less brazen without his anger, and mumbles, "Me too."


End file.
